


Who Loves Ya

by elaine



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-28
Updated: 1999-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: A PWP featuring Turnbull.





	Who Loves Ya

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Who Loves Ya?

this story was written for the "Everybody Loves Turnbull" challenge on the Turnbull list 

## Who Loves Ya?

The light crept in through his eyelashes and, with a soft moan, he opened his eyes. It was still early morning, and he couldn't have slept for more than a couple of hours. His body ached. It didn't matter a bit. He smiled at the sound of a large body stirring against crumpled sheets, and felt the soft kiss of bare skin against his own. 

He'd thought, smugly, that it wasn't only Mounties who could get their man, but after the last few hours, he wasn't so sure who'd got whom. Certainly, he'd learnt not to underestimate the man lying beside him since he'd got to know him a little better. 

At first he'd been stunned and somewhat bemused to find that there was someone who could out-Fraser Fraser at his worst. He'd thought that Turnbull was either a moron or a complete lunatic and wondered how on earth he'd ever gotten into the RCMP. It had been a while before he noticed the inconsistencies... here was a man who could barely get out a comment on the weather in his presence without stuttering and blushing, yet was able not only to quote obscure points of the law concerning the extradition of American criminals from Canadian soil, but also recognise and give the specifications for a wide range of different weapons. 

Then Turnbull had brought a beautifully cooked meal to the precinct, for Francesca Vecchio, of all people. Everybody in the Lunch Room had been salivating at the delicious aroma. A meal the Mountie had said he'd cooked himself. He hadn't believed it for a moment, at least until that same Mountie had sketched, before his very eyes, a pinpoint accurate drawing of a known perp. At that point he'd given up trying to make sense of the conundrum that was Turnbull. 

When his curiosity had changed into something more, he wasn't entirely sure. He only knew that one day he'd found himself inviting Turnbull to a Blues bar, and heard the other man's stammering acceptance with an unexpected lifting of his heart. In spite of the Mountie's avowed preference for Country and Western (he shuddered slightly), they'd both had a very enjoyable night. 

In return, Turnbull had invited him to a hockey match. He'd had to accept, purely out of politeness, he told himself. That, too, had been a pleasant evening. A lot of fun actually... he smiled at the memory of his solemnly polite Canadian jumping up and down and screaming with delight as the favoured team won with a last minute goal. That had been a sight worth seeing... 

They'd dated for over a month. Still uncertain, though growing less so with every meeting, he'd hesitated to make his interest too obvious. And then last night it had happened. Thinking about it, he realised that his memory was uncertain. He clearly remembered that brush of a wide shoulder against his own as Turnbull had turned to leave. The feather light touch of a hand against his... 

His fingers had instinctively woven themselves between Turnbull's long bony ones and his hand had felt uncomfortably small in the resultant grasp. Their eyes had met and there had been such an intense expression of longing on Turnbull's face that his heart had raced. He didn't remember who had moved first, but, looking back, he was no longer sure that that first touch had been an accident. 

With a small sigh he rolled onto his side to look at his lover. Funny, he would have thought that Turnbull would be the one to wake before dawn (and probably go out for a ten mile run, he thought with a grin) and yet the Mountie was sleeping peacefully and he was wide awake at an hour he barely knew existed. Who would have thought this strange, sometimes childlike, man could have such an effect on him? 

There was nothing childlike about his body, though. He admired the long angular planes of his lover's face and body. The only softness there was the sweet curve of his cock, lying on his belly. Irresistibly, his fingers strayed to cover the lax genitals, and after a moment felt a faint, restless stirring. His hand looked very dark against the pale Canadian skin. 

Intent on the fluttering movements under his hand, he almost missed the faint sigh that signalled his lover's awakening. Deep blue eyes opened onto his and he leaned forward to claim his first kiss of the new day. It was returned with sleepy enthusiasm. The thin lipped mouth softened into a smile as he drew back. 

He returned it, of course. How could he not? "Good morning, Renfield." Such a silly name, but somehow it suited him. 

Renfield rolled onto his side to face him and touched his cheek with long bony fingers that trembled slightly. "Good morning, Jack." 

the end 


End file.
